


Do You Hear It Too?

by Banna_Banana



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU Universe
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banna_Banana/pseuds/Banna_Banana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with a picture that Tim accidentally takes, and suddenly someone is finally willing to help him with everything he's been through. And who'd be more perfect than Jason?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The ages in this fic are wacked out a bit. And it's sorta following the events of Batman: Return of the Joker but not really.

Tim Drake is calm, cool, collected, meticulous, and, above all else, a perfect soldier. And perfect soldiers don’t panic. They don’t sit on the fine, rich couch in their living room, staring into space for what must’ve been an hour. They don’t clench and unclench their fist around nothing. They aren’t weak.

  
Tim Drake is calm, cool, collected, meticulous, and, above all else, he is broken. Anyone who takes on a position like Robin should expect horrible things to happen to them. Dick had to watch his parents die, so did Batman, Damien, God knows that kid is screwed up, and Jason… Jason Todd was murdered. Jason Todd came back to life and his family had rejected him, but he wasn’t broken. Not like Tim. He handled everything he’s been through…albeit through murderous rage.

  
Tim Drake sits on the luxurious couch in his living room, watching his window as if someone or something will cross past it. Except nothing does and nothing will, and Tim knows this. He’s been benched for only a week, and now he’s on the lookout for the newest Robin. Tim’s not delusional; he knows that he’ll be replaced soon enough. Hell, he was the one who told Bruce that he needed a Robin. In hindsight, maybe he should’ve been more considerate about the fact that Jason had actually been a person.  
But now Tim is resigned to his old life, to being alone, to having nothing to do, to stalking the Batman and his Robin.

 

Every drop of rain, every thump of his camera against his chest as he runs, every clack of a hooker’s heels on the side walk, and Tim’s hair stands on end. He knows, he knows that the Joker is dead; he knows this better than anyone. But that doesn’t change the fact that the dead have come back before. The dead have come back before and Tim has never had good encounters with them.

  
It’s not hard to track Bruce; he’s been doing it since he was nine. However, it is hard to watch him fly through Gotham, completely put together. When Jason Todd died, Batman wasn’t the same. When Tim got benched, not dead but he doesn’t really think he’s alive either, Batman once again took to the streets as if nothing had changed.  
It only hurts a little.

 

When Tim gets home he develops the pictures and hangs them up next to the others. His whole can be seen on the far wall of his closet; the first time he met Dick Grayson, the time he saw him again as Robin, as Nightwing, and then Batman with his new Robin.

  
Robin got him through his childhood, but that’s not exactly right. Dick was someone that Tim watched with amazement, watched with the childlike wonder that many did with Superman. Tim could never be Dick. However, Jason was someone that Tim could be. Jason was the person Tim had wanted to be, and now, looking at a blurry photo of the Red Hood that he had gotten in the nick of time, he is reminded of why the second Boy Wonder had such a large place on his wall.

 

Following Batman loses its novelty especially quick since Tim was Robin. The mysteriousness of the Caped Crusader is lost once you’ve seen the way Alfred takes care of Bruce Wayne. He moves on to watching Nightwing, and he’s transported back to a simpler time. A time before Robins, a time before villains, and a time before laughter was ruined.

  
At the end of the night, he uploads the pictures of Nightwing to a special, highly encrypted folder that he uses to hold all photos of the Batfamily. He feels like a stalker but also like he’s still welcome in the Wayne manor. There are even pictures of Alfred.

  
Next to that folder is one simply titled ‘Villains’. It is filled with articles from the Gotham newspaper and pictures that Tim himself took of them captured, right before him and Bruce ditched so the cops couldn’t get to them. Tim drags that folder to the recycling bin and hits ‘delete forever’.

 

After following a Dick for a week, that gets boring too, and Tim knows that his only other option is dangerous, but it still outweighs not doing anything.

  
Tim knew that following the Red Hood would be hard. However, he was wrong; it was damn near impossible. Hood takes every twist and turn imaginable when he’s out on patrol, not to mention that he constantly looks over his shoulder. Tim’s shocked that when Jason patrols, he walks the streets as if he has nothing to hide. He doesn’t wear his domino mask, and he doesn’t wear his hood. He walks down the street with nothing but his hands in his pockets and a cigarette hanging from his lips, and Tim wants nothing more than to take a picture.

  
Tim’s laying on his stomach on top of a building, camera held to his face, only some odd feet above an alley with two conversing hookers. He zooms in on Jason as he stops to buy a pack of cigarettes from a newsstand, focusing his camera for what would be a perfect profile shot that even include the patch of white in his hair.

  
Laying there and watching Jason, it’s hard for him to remember that he’s only three years older than Tim, only nineteen. Down below, one of the women laugh, a smoker’s laugh, and Tim’s transported back to serums and videos and laughter. Horrible, cold laughter.

  
Tim’s finger pushes down on the button.

  
The picture is taken.

  
Jason stills.

  
Jason looks up.

  
Jason sees him.

  
_Jesus fucking Christ Jason sees him._

  
Tim flees.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim Drake flees like his life depends on it, and it does. If Jason catches up to him, who knows what the ex-Robin will do? Everyone in Gotham knows how the Red Hood feels about Batman and those who are under his patronage. He runs away so fast that Tim doesn’t have time to notice; he doesn’t notice that, as he runs, he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t notice the thud of shoes in the rain. He doesn’t notice the laughter.

  
And just like that he does. He notices the way the laughter follows, carries through the alleyway, and he stops. His camera doesn’t get the memo and slams back against his chest, almost knocking the wind out of him, and if Tim was in his right mind, he would’ve complained about the laws of physics and inertia and anything else he could think of. But Tim isn’t in his right mind, hasn’t been for the past week, so instead of being in the Bat Cave or patrolling like he should be, Tim is leaning against a slightly damp brick wall, his hands pressed firmly into his ears.

  
He doesn’t hear Jason drop down before him, and he doesn’t feel it when Jason slams his hand into the wall right next to his head, but he does smell the acrid smoke from his cigarette. Tim looks up at Jason -honestly how was he that much taller with just a three year age difference?- and slowly removes his hands from his ears; Jason’s eyes track the movement as if he thinks Tim will pull out a weapon, as if he thinks that Tim is even capable of it at the moment.

  
“Why are you taking pictures of me Replacement?” Jason blows out a bit of smoke as he talks, but he angles his mouth, and cigarette, so that the smoke doesn’t go into Tim’s nose.

  
“Batman,” it hurts to say his name, “wants surveillance on you. He says that your movements have been unpredictable.”

  
Jason calls him on it immediately. “Bullshit. Old Batsy has never been able to predict anything with me, and I’ve got a source saying you’ve been benched. So I’ll ask you again Replacement, why are you taking pictures of me?” Jason is quickly losing patience, and Tim doesn’t have to know his history to foresee that this won’t end well.

  
“My finger slipped.” Just like that, Jason’s next puff of smoke is in Tim’s face, and the back of his throat stings.

  
Jason flicks his cigarette off into a puddle, and the way it sizzles out reminds Tim of unbearable heat on his skin, marks on his arm, pitying looks from Bruce and Alfred, a week alone on his couch. “Bullshit me again and I won’t be so nice.” Jason gives him one last pitying look, but Tim is already on the ground, his camera in his lap, clutching at his arms.

* * *

 

Jason tries not to think about what he just saw. He tries not to think about the way the Replacement sunk to the ground, how he fell back against the wall before Jason jumped down from the roof, but he can’t. Jason can’t not think about how that was him, how sometimes that _is_ him.

  
He drops back onto his bed, and a little bit of hair falls into his face. He always gels it back when he wears his hood, but when he walks the streets of Gotham unmasked, he isn’t a former Robin, isn’t a tragic, fallen hero, isn’t a returning disappointment.

  
He is Jason Peter Todd, and Jason Peter Todd did not grow up in Wayne Manor. He grew up on some of the darkest streets of Gotham, doing whatever he could to ensure that he and his mother survived. Even as the man he grew into, he is still the same boy that shared his food with whoever needed it, even if that meant he’d go hungry for the night.

Tonight was supposed to be just that. This wasn’t Jason as the Red Hood or as Robin saving the day; this was Jason helping the kids that the Batman forgot about, no, the children that Batman neglected to help, the children Batman turned a blind eye towards as if he thought the cops would help.

  
On nights like these, when Jason doesn’t feel like blowing the world to hell, he loses his hood and mask and walks down the street, hands in pockets and cigarette resting in between his top and bottom lip, just as he did back then, as if nothing has changed. Except everything has.

  
Now what was supposed to be a simple walk around the block to blow off steam has turned into draping an arm across his eyes. He pretends not to notice the heat; he knows it’s not there anyway. He pretends not to feel the cold, phantom pain of a crow bar that doesn’t exist anymore. He scrunches his single pillow against his ears so he doesn’t hear the laughter.  
There’s nothing he can do to leave his own head; blowing things up is starting to lose its appeal, the night has already been ruined, and taking a steaming hot shower will only remind him of the boiling heat of the Lazarus Pit.

* * *

 

In the end, Jason does what a Robin does best. He flies.

  
This, aside from justice and all that, has always been Jason’s favorite part. He has never felt freer than running along some of the highest buildings in Gotham and dropping down onto the next one, the wind lifting his jacket up almost to the point where he blocks his face.

  
He may not be able to do a quadruple summersault like Dick, but climbing up buildings and sliding right back down is just as exhilarating. And just like that, Jason is once again a child, running away from whatever scam he just pulled. He’s on top of the world, nothing can touch him, and his feet will never reach the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day. Should I be this proud?

Another week of being benched has passed and Tim has yet to leave his house. He’s curled up on his couch, the news playing quietly as he browses through his computer. Someone at the cave must’ve contacted Oracle because Tim no longer has access to all of the files, but he doesn’t need files to see the brief coverage of the new Robin.

  
It hurts more than it should. Tim isn’t blind to how quickly Batman goes through his Robins, but this was one of those times where Tim didn’t expect the worse. How can he when it’s already happened? Tim had actually fooled himself into believing that Bruce would go at least three weeks before he got a new replacement.

  
This Robin is younger than him, and he moves with a confidence that Tim never possessed. One that he never will. It’s at this point, right before he can work himself up, that he decides to shut off the news. He shuts his laptop as well and pulls the cover up from his feet as he moves himself deeper into the couch.

  
He can’t bring himself to shut off the hallway light.

* * *

 

This has gotten to the point of being unhealthy, and Tim is mature enough to acknowledge. However, he is not mature enough to stop. He can’t stop the how he follows Batman and his new Robin, and he knows he won’t stop.

  
That was until he found himself in this position.

  
This time he’s not backed against an alley wall but pinned down with a knee on his sternum and a knife against his neck.

  
“You’re following me Drake, and I don’t appreciate it. If I catch you again, Father will not be able to stop me from giving you more than a little cut.” And just like that the newest Robin, the true son of Batman, of Bruce Wayne, is gone.

  
Tim takes a second to just lie there, to notice how that kid said his last name, something that the Red Hood never did. Did that mean the Red Hood hates Tim more than the new Robin does? He can see why one would. Coming face to face with his replacement has made Tim’s blood boil, whether it’s anger or hurt he doesn’t know, but the feeling of that knife against his neck, the small prick of pain, nothing really, that came when Robin pushed it in deeper was exhilarating. Tim briefly wonders if this is how Jason feels when he’s in danger, the toss up on whether or not he can evade death twice, but he pushes that aside.

  
Tim can hear his heart beating as he runs back to his house, and this time nothing stops him on the way.

* * *

 

Soon enough he has donned his Red Robin costume and is scaling the tallest building in Gotham. He perches himself on the highest point he can and looks down. Tim watches as the cars move in the street and people pass by on the sidewalk, and he takes in a deep breath, holds it in, and lets it out right before he closes his eyes and jumps.

  
The wind on his face has never felt so good, and Tim loves the way his heart beats faster and faster the closer he gets to the ground. He doesn’t know how close he is to the ground before he spreads his arms, spreads his wings. When he finally drifts back onto the ground, Tim realizes how close he was to the ground before he stopped himself. Before he splattered.  
In his two weeks of being benched, he’s forgotten how good pure adrenaline feels; it gives a better high than the purest of heroin. The need for more is exactly why Tim has never even let alcohol pass his lips.

  
Tim has never felt anything exactly like that. He’s never felt that type of thoughtlessness. His life didn’t flash before his eyes, no, all he saw was darkness and then a lit up sidewalk.

* * *

 

Tim continues to do this when it gets to the point that he isn’t feeling anything. He’s only done it a couple of times, but each time he lets himself get a little closer to the ground. He’s hoping that soon enough he’ll be able to feel the cold of the asphalt as he flies parallel to the ground.

  
He’s close this time and can almost taste it. Tim knows that that’s not possible unless his tongue is on the ground, but now Tim can think of nothing else other than the feel of asphalt.  
Something crashes into his side and suddenly Tim’s almost crashing into a wall instead of the ground. He realizes that someone intercepted only when he doesn’t smash head first into the wall but instead someone stops them and then they’re sliding down the wall.

  
Whoever caught him props him up against the wall and puts their index and middle finger against his pulse. “Jesus fucking Christ Tim, what the fuck were you thinking?!”

  
When he hears Jason’s voice sounding as pissed off as it does right now, Tim knows without a shadow of doubt that he is going to die, and he’s not the type to look death in the face.

* * *

 

When Tim comes to, he’s on his couch with quite a few blankets draped over him. That’s the first thing that alerts him to the fact that he didn’t get here on his own. The second thing is the glass on the floor under his window; it looks like it was punched in so that someone could unlatch it.

  
The TV isn’t on and his laptop is still shut, so they must’ve gotten here recently and didn’t want any of Tim’s information. He looks around a bit, to see if he can find whoever brought him here, and that’s when he see the red helmet on the table. Tim thinks he just might faint again.


	4. Chapter 4

            This time, Tim doesn't faint; he pushes himself up into a sitting position and doesn't even wince at the pain around his midriff.  _Jesus, it feels like a train hit me in just my abdomen_. There's the sound of shattering glass in the kitchen, and that's what reminds Tim that he's not alone.

           " _Shit._ Tim's gonna kill me if I break another mug." It's the first time he's heard his name leave the Red Hood's mouth, and the way Dick constantly calls his name can't compare to this. There's a sound of glass sliding along the floor and then the sound of pouring. Tim knows he only has a couple of seconds before Hood walks in here, but for the life of him, he can't figure out what to do.

           "Drink up Replacement," Hood says as he walks into the room, one steaming cup of...something in his hand. "I was gonna make hot chocolate, but you didn't have any mix."

           "Thanks," Tim mutters, taking the cup. Looking inside, it's plainly obvious Jason doesn't often make tea; there's way too much water in the cup, one of the largest that Tim has, to even taste good. He takes a sip anyway, and it's when the liquid burns his tongue and makes a scorching path down his throat that Tim realizes it's been a while since he felt warm. It's fall in Gotham now, the weather getting nippier and nippier by the day, but Tim has been too lazy to break out the warmer clothes. He'll do it before it snows, probably.

           "So why did you just try to hurl yourself onto the pavement? You and Daddy having a fight?" Hood sounds concerned up until that last part, and it's a lot easier for Tim to deal when his words hold some bite.

           "Why didn't you let me?" Tim just wishes his could at least be a  _nip._ He doesn't why that's what he snaps back with; he didn't mean to kill himself. He hadn't wanted to hit the pavement, just to graze it. 

           Tim hadn't thought that his reply would have any effect on Jason, however, that's until Jason is nose to nose with him. He's so close that Tim can observe that Jason has a smattering of freckles across his nose, that his eyes aren't a pure green, that his teeth are nowhere near straight, that his breath still smells like his last cigarette with a hint of something else.

           "Well Replacement, take it from me; death ain't a sweet escape or whatever the fuck you thought it'd be," He snarls, and Tim is once again reminded of all of the times was insensitive to Jason. He doesn't apologize though because Tim's not an idiot; the Red Hood has never wanted an apology. He just wants vengeance. Instead, Tim leans back into his couch and takes another sip of his drink.

           "I wasn't trying to off myself, and believe me, if I wanted to, that's not how I'd do it." He says this with a straight face, hoping that Red Hood can't see in Tim's eyes that he thought about it. Many, many times. He expects Hood to say something along the lines of 'when you do, I won't save you' or at least something to apply that Tim is weak, that he's giving up. Except the Red Hood looks at him like he's heard those words more than once before, and Tim tries hard not to think about what that'd imply.

 

* * *

 

            Jason gets flashes of his previous life often. More often than not it's when he was Robin, all the times Alfred made him food -sometimes he'd even put a note in his lunchbox-, all the times Bruce looked at him like he was something worth looking at, and all of the times he slept with his head on a feather pillow and a heavy blanket wrapped around his body. Barely, but still sometimes, Jason remembers mornings spent at a kitchen table with an infinite amount of stains, spooning cold soup into his mouth, as his mother slept off whatever she had done the previous night, because he couldn't use the gas stove that often and it'd be better if his mom ate something warm rather than him.

           But now Jason looks back on times he thought he had forgotten, times he yelled at friends after fights that they both knew couldn't be won.  He remembers saying 'are you trying to off yourself or somethin'?' twice, and twice he got the same answer he just got from the replacement, almost word for word. Thinking back on it, Jason never heard anything else leave mouths after those words.

           Replacement is staring at him like he's scared the Big Bad Red Hood will get back in his face, but after the previous blast from the past, Jason isn't feeling it anymore. "Just don't tell Batman who saved you, alright kid? I don't need him knocking down my door and questioning my 'motives' or some shit." The fight against the kid is quickly leaving him, but the anger he feels toward Bruce is as alive as ever.

           Jason heard about what happened, well, the basic details that is. He knows that Robin got captured by the Joker, and he doesn't really need to know much else. No one leaves the Joker's clutches unscathed; Jason knows that better than anyone. A part of Jason is happy, cruelly and wrongfully happy, at the pure poetic justice of the Replacement getting replaced. However, the other part of Jason remembers the way Tim -when did he start using the kid's name?- was when he confronted him in the alley, and with that, Jason remembers a fifteen-year-old boy -no, a fifteen-year-old _body_ \- that hadn't even made it into the dirt before he was brought back. Sometimes Jason thinks that the first few seconds of his new life were just as scary as the last of his old one.

           "You don't have to worry about me crying to Bruce; he's done with me now," Tim says this as though he were used, and, Jason supposes, he was. The Dynamic Duo was never about equality. It was about Robin highlighting Batman, but they all knew that when they took the job. "Nobody wants a robin with broken wings...sorry," he adds with a look to Jason, and this time, it's not pity in those blue eyes but companionship, and that brings back his need to blow the world to hell.


	5. Chapter 5

After Tim's apology, Jason gives him one last unreadable look before he is once again donning his helmet. He has one leg already slung over the window sill, and Tim tries to ignore his disappointment when Jason brings the other leg over without even saying goodbye. 

Tim gets up as soon as he can no longer hear Jason, and for the first time in weeks, he decides to do something that'll  _actually_  help him. Even if it's something as simple as cleaning up broken glass. The sun has yet to rise, but however long Tim was unconscious is enough. He feels refreshed in a way that he hasn't in weeks, and he's not going to let that opportunity pass.

Tim sets to work around the house, and to set the mood, he plays music. It's been so long since Tim has been able to deep clean such a large space -Alfred is just as stubborn as the rest of them. He can't help it when he gets lost in himself; he hums as he straightens things up, he taps his feet as he washes dishes, and he sways his hips as he dusts. He can remember doing this when he was young, often bumping into his mother's much wider hips. They sang and danced and cleaned up until his father came home, and sometimes, if the day wasn't too long, his father would join in.

The joy of dancing with his parents had soon became tied with photography. Tim can remember his first camera when he was eight; he got it for Christmas once his parents caught him looking through all of the photo albums for the umpteenth time. It had come as a shock; photography had never been something that he had considered, but the second picture that made it onto his wall was a smiling one of his parents.

After the first picture Tim took, he couldn't stop. It had started simply as pictures of the house and his parents, it then turned into random scenes of Gotham while they were out, and then it escalated into hiding on fire escapes, crouched into rainy corners as he tried to get a glimpse of Robin. It never  _had_  been about finding Batman; Tim's one and only concern had been the Boy Wonder.

Watching Robin was what Tim did when his parents went out for work or when he was lonely, and when Batman's sidekick performed a quadruple somersault, Tim's obsession began.

Watching Dick Grayson was like watching Superman except it was  _so_  much better because he wasn't that much older than Tim, and when Dick became Nightwing, a part of him thought that there was no more use in watching Batman. Then the second Robin came along.

Watching Jason Todd was like nothing Tim had ever felt; his heart beat with something akin to adrenaline yet it felt so much different. His stomach would clench whenever Jason's eyes would almost land on Tim as he looked for threats. It was exhilarating. Then Jason Todd died.

Watching the Red Hood was like seeing your favorite child actor die and return as a zombie. Except it was nothing like that because Jason Todd was a person. He was a person who didn't deserve the childhood he had, he didn't deserve to die, and he didn't deserve to be replaced without a second thought.

Tim doesn't deserve to be Robin.

* * *

 

Jason hadn't known how to respond to Tim's apology, so he fled. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently. A part of him had actually wanted to stay, but he wasn't stupid. There’d be nothing to talk about, and Batman would almost definitely show up.

He pretends like he doesn’t stay on the property for a second longer than necessary.

 

Jason does what he wanted to on that night when everything changed between him and the replacement: he walks down the streets of Gotham.

When he was a kid, furtive glances were always thrown Jason’s way over shoulder’s higher than his head, but now no one looks at him in any way other than normal. He walks down the street with his head held high, and if anyone gives him a look that they did when he was a kid, he’ll make them regret it.

Someone crashes into Jason’s side, just below waist height, and he slides into a defensive stance before he can register who ran into him. A ginger kid looks up at him likes he’s terrified the wrath of the heavens will be brought down upon him, but then he schools expression into something like excitement.

“Wow man, your legs are like as thick as tree trunks!” Well, it’s not the weirdest thing a kid has ever said to Jason. The ginger looks back the way he came, and his pupils dilate quite a bit. Jason’s can’t decide between fear and adrenaline, but either way he knows that look.

“C’mon kid,” Jason says, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. The two walk down the street, and people shoot the kid pitying looks that piss Jason off to no end. Instead of looking maybe they should fucking do something. They walk past a few more alleys before Jason steers them into one that’s confirmed to be empty.

Jason leans back against a wall, lights a cigarette, and takes his first drag just as the kid closes his eyes and slides his hand down his face. “So, um, my friend told me that it’s, like, common courtesy to… ya know…” the kid trails off, gesturing vaguely towards Jason. He takes a couple steps forward and finally drops to his knees before Jason gets what’s happening.

“Woah! Shit kid, what the fuck?!” Jason sidesteps and tries not to watch the look of relief that passes over the kid’s face as he gets up. It’s been so long since Jason’s had a good banging-his-head-against-the-wall, what with the helmet and all, so he takes advantage of this opportunity. “Jesus fuck, of course. I’ve been in your shoes. God fuckin’ dammit!” He punches the wall, the kid flinches, and Jason doesn’t even notice the pain. One more head bang and Jason remembers that there’s a kid right next to him that was seconds away from sucking his dick. “Who are you running from?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

_This fucking kid._ “Okay look, let’s not pretend that that didn’t just happen. Who’s chasing you?”

Ginger sighs and leans against the wall, mimicking Jason. “Foster dad.”

Jason nods; he understands. “Do you trust me Ginger?”

“Well it’s Colin-“

“Not the point.”

“Yeah, I trust you as much as I can for being a guy who took me into an alley and make me s-“

“Okay! C’mon. We’re going to my place.” _One of them._ There are _so_ many ways that this could go wrong, and Jason figures that almost all of them will happen.


	6. Chapter 6

It turns out that putting up with the kid -" _Colin._ My name is Colin."- isn't too hard; he does the typical foster kid shit. Makes himself scarce. Jason sees him at breakfast before Colin goes to school, and at dinner. They talk about meaningless shit -"What'd you do at school?" "School stuff." "What'd you do at work?" "Work stuff."- and Jason slips out after he goes to sleep and comes back, quietly, before he wakes up.

Jason wasn't there when Colin got back from school, didn't even get in front of the door until a couple of minutes before dinner, so it's a shock when he sees Colin at the stove cooking, talking, and even more when Jason sees the replacement sitting at his table. At his  _fucking_ table.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was just-" Replacement sounds frantic, but it looks like he's been here for awhile, so it's not a breathless type thing.

"He came here and asked for you, by  _name_ ," Colin interrupts, saying that last part as if he's never heard a name dropped. Jason supposes he hasnt; he's probably just heard a lot of vague physical descriptions and relations.

"Going to apologize," the replacement finishes, a faint smile playing on his lips as if Colin reminds him of someone.

"Don't. I wasn't gonna let you... ya know," Jason finishes vaguely; there's no way he's going to risk letting the kid in on the whole 'vigilante' secret. Some things have to remain untouched.

"Really Hoo- Jason, it's not about that." Replacement's looking at Jason like if he doesn't tell him, the replacement's world will never be right again.  _Fucking get used to it kid._ "Please."

"C'mon Jason, just let him apologize; he came really far." Of course Colin knows Tim had a hike; it doesn't take a genius to recognize him as Tim Drake.

"Fine Tim." Jason sighs as if it takes all of his self-control to not leave, and  _by God_ it does. "Kid, don't burn my house down."

"My name is Colin!" he calls as Jason and Tim head into Jason's room.

Jason pretends that he's not bothered by this, not bothered by the fact that this is the first time a bat has been in one of his safe houses, that they've seen the way Jason lives. Except this isn't how Jason lives; he doesn't stay in one place for long, doesn't live with a kid, and doesn't act as if he has a shred of domesticity in him.

"So what do you want Replacement?" For all that Jason's done to him, the less-than-fond nickname seems to affect him the most.

"I said I wanted to apologize. Not for the other day!" he finishes hurriedly, and Jason gets it. Apologizing would imply guilt, and implying guilt would be an admission. Replacement sits on the edge of Jason's bed, twiddling his fingers and looking anywhere but Jason. "I want to apologize for back then."

"A little late for that, don't ya think Replacement?" This time Jason means for it to hurt; he's still bitter and doesn't think he'll ever stop.

"I'm not sorry that I did it."  _So the replacement actually has some bite, huh?_ "I'm sorry that I didn't think about you, didn't honor you."

"Why would you?" Jason asks harshly, cutting him off. "You didn't  _fucking_ know me, so why care when you didn't even wait a fucking month to replace me?"

"Batman needed it and so did Gotham." This is the Tim that Jason knows; this is Robin. And Jason would be damned if that didn't piss him off more.

"And who gives a shit about a dead street kid, huh?" It's a low blow, but it's the truth.

"Oh bullshit!"  _And a mouth too? Everyone's full of surprises these days._ "Bruce mourned you, Alred mourned you, Dick mourned you, even  _I_ fucking mourned you!" Replacement almost looks near tears now, but neither of them are done.

"How many times do I have to tell you: you didn't know me!"

They're both breathing heavily, and when the replacement wipes the tears from his eyes, Jason knows he's about to deliver his closing statement. "Didn't you read my file? I always watched you-"

"You also watched Dick."

"And guess who I have more pictures of." He pushes himself off the bed and walks past Jason to the door. With Jason following as they pass Colin, the replacement spins around quickly just before he reaches the door. "And if you don't get it yet Jason, then you're a fucking idiot." And then he leaves.

Colin has the good sense to not say shit.


	7. Chapter 7

Tim doesn't make it out of the apartment building; he doesn't even make it to the next door. He crumbles to the floor outside of Jason's apartment because he knows it's safe and because he doesn't trust himself to make it all the way home. Tim Drake, in his own way, had just confessed to Jason Todd, and he honestly can't say why he did it. Maybe it was the look on Jason's face when he said that he cared, as though Jason couldn't fathom that someone would give him the time of day. Maybe it's just because Tim's tired of keeping stuff in.

But there's so much more he needs to let out. He needs to find someone who understands, and there's only two people that fit the criteria. But only one of them won't kill Tim the first chance they get.

"Hey Jason, I'm going out for a walk!" Jason's kid, Colin, calls, and Tim can just hear an affirmative grunt. Colin walks out the door, and Tim knows he's been spotted but can't bring himself to care at this very moment. Colin closes the door and makes a show of 'walking', quieting his steps the 'further' he gets, giving Tim a wink as he does. Sitting down next to Tim and copying his pose, Colin says, "unless Jason is Superman in his spare time, he won't be able to hear us, so spill."

Tim forces himself to smile, however small, for the kid. "You're not as dense as him Colin, so don't act like it."

Colin gives Tim a  _don't try to play me_  look, and somehow, it makes Tim feel like the child. “I might not know you Tim, but you don’t seem like the type to go ‘round confessin’ your love outta the blue.” Even with the quite tone of Colin’s voice, he very much sounds every part of the spiritual guide.

“I didn’t confess my love,” Tim huffs, but they both know he’s just lying to himself.

“Right, love, feelings, whatever. Point is, why?” Colin asks, and he asks this unlike a normal child would, without the childlike wonder.

“I just wanted to throw him off balance,” Tim lies, pushing himself up off the floor. “And that’s what I did, so I’m leaving.”

“Tim wait!” Colin whisper-yells, but Tim ignores him.

 

* * *

 

It’s the first time Tim’s been on top of a building in weeks, and the way the wind blows through his hair, messing it up in just the right way, is something that he’ll never be able to resist. He’s still wearing his Robin costume, but he tore the Robin insignia off, turned it inside out and sewed it back on; it’s not wise to go back in the field with chinks in one’s armor.

It’s 12 a.m. and Tim’s doing surveillance on a warehouse where a shipment of fear-toxin is going down; Scarecrow went so far under the radar that it took Tim the full past 48 hours to work this out. Maybe doing this alone isn’t such a good idea, but Batman and Robin are on the other side of the city, and Tim’s got something to prove.

As Tim listens to Scarecrow explain the exchange, Tim knows this isn’t going to be the cleanest bust; this new version of the toxin is not only more potent but also in liquid form, which means it’s easier to slip to someone whether it be through needle or liquid.

He waits until the buyer closes the suitcase with more force than necessary, a power-play that makes Tim roll his eyes, before he swings through the window with the sounds of shattering glass. Shots are instantly being fired, but this is like playing chicken with the swings set to Tim; he dodges and ducks like a pro, going after the man with the briefcase.

He’s almost on the, surprisingly unarmed, boss when he feels a prick in his neck. It’s nothing more that the feeling that starts the sensation of pins-and-needles, but Tim knows he’s fucked. He only has a second for that thought before everything goes black.

* * *

 

 _He wasn’t paying attention well enough, Tim_ knew _that, but he still couldn’t take his attention away from his fight with Harley. They were trading blows almost like a dance, and, Tim supposed, to her it probably was if her smiling and laughing were any indication. Batman was fighting the Joker, both running around the abandoned building they were in, and Tim was supposed to be paying attention to the Joker’s cackle, but he couldn’t. Harley was too fast and she was just getting faster. She was no longer throwing punches but jabs, going after pressure points, but Tim couldn’t dodge them fast enough, and soon he was limp. Before he could scream, Harley was straddling his waist with a hand over his mouth._

_“Hey Babybat, how do ya like my new perfume? I call it-“ but Tim couldn’t hear her anymore._

_When Tim came to he was strapped down to a steel table, something wrapped over his forehead and pressed to his temples. His eyes were heavy, and when he opened them, the bright lights of the room damn near blinded him._

_“Oh Mistah J! It looks like our Li’l J woke up,” Harley shouted with a giggle, and her shrill voice did nothing for Tim’s growing headache. From what Tim could see through the little movement he could manage, they were in a barren room, nothing but a steel table, a projector, and the stool Harley was perched upon. There was shuffling in a conjoined room and the sounds of clinging metal before Tim could hear a man’s heavy steps._

_“Oh Harley, why do you insist on naming everything after me? But I must I am rather flattered,” Joker said, punctuating his statement with a cackle. It all makes Tim queasy._

_“What’re you guys gonna do, huh? Whatever it is, I hope it’s more creative than a crowbar,” Tim spatt, the words feeling like liquid disrespect, and god it made him sick to say those words, but his punishment was even worse._

_Shock. Electricity coursed through his body, and then Tim was screaming, screaming and convulsing_ _. “Aw, Li’l J, don’t cry; it won’t hurt as much the more we do it,” Harley crooned, bringing a finger down his cheek and laughing at Tim’s weak attempt to bite it._

_“I’m not your…not your ‘Li’l J’.” He doesn’t sound convincing, Tim knows this, but if Jason fought to the end, he would too._

_“Perhaps we should show him our home videos; Harley start the projector,” Joker ordered._

_Three weeks of torture, that packed in a life’s worth of memories, later, and Batman, along with Batgirl, busted through the window. Li’l J stood behind a curtain, gun in hand, shaky smile on his face, as he waited for his entrance. The suit and makeup that emulated his father’s look itched against his skin rather uncomfortably. His mother and father talked and joked with the Bats as they normally did, and their laughs provided a comfort that tickled something in the back of his mind._

_“And now, I’d like you to meet the newest addition to our family,” Papa J said, doing whatever it was that spread the curtains apart, putting Li’l J in the spot light. Mama Harley walked over with all of her grace and rubbed a hand, that used to bring comfort but now only brought conflict, over his slicked back hair._

_Soon enough a fight broke out, and Li’l J was cast to the sidelines of everyone’s attention, until Papa J brought back with an order._

_“Okay, son, shoot him now!” he yelled, one of Batman’s large arms wrapped around his midsection and the other wrapped around his neck._

_Li’l J, except that name didn’t feel right at the moment, pulled up his gun, aiming it at Batman’s head. The man behind the cowl seemed to stiffen, but nobody actually took notice. Li’l J must have taken too long to aim because Papa, not even that felt right anymore, was yelling again, “do it now you little brat!”_

_If one were to ask, the kid wouldn’t be able to them whether or not he missed when he shot the clown-faced man, the Joker. With that yell, his arm dropped down to point at the Joker’s chest and he pulled the trigger. Batman dropped his body and rushed over at the same time Batgirl did, presumably having beaten the jester-looking woman, Harley Quinn. The kid flinched away from Batman’s touch, but that didn’t stop Batgirl from running up and hugging the boy._

_“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay Tim, don’t worry,” she cooed, keeping him pressed to her chest tight, and when the name Tim felt right, the boy, Tim, let tears run freely down his cheeks, paying no mind to the makeup they smeared._


	8. Chapter 8

When Jason busts through the window, Scarecrow is laughing his ass off, his business partners are staring at the floor, horrified, and on the floor, the real punch in the gut of this situation, is Tim. At first he lies there, hands pressed to his sides, but then he’s screaming and convulsing. For a second Jason thinks he’s having a seizure, but that thought goes out the busted window when Tim stops after a few seconds. That goes on for a bit, on and off, on and off, while Crane runs away before Jason can shoot him between the eyes of his burlap sack. Everyone else doesn’t make it out so lucky. That is to say, they _don’t_ make it out.

Jason puts his smoking gun back in its holster before he scoops up Tim and _jesus fuck this kid is light_. There’s a brief where Tim curls his body against Jason’s, but then he’s pulling at his hair and clawing at his mouth. Jason doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help, but there’s a disgusting feeling of recognition in his stomach at the pure mad way Tim is acting. He settles for throwing Tim over his shoulder, hands kept at his side and outside of reach of his face. “What the hell happened to you kid?” Jason asks himself as they fly through the night. He doesn’t want an answer.

 

Jason climbs through his own window, trying to ignore the fact that Tim is still thrashing over his shoulder. Colin should be asleep at this point, but he doesn’t want to take any chances of the kid waking up and seeing Tim. Jason makes quick work of getting Tim’s mask off and into new clothes, trying his damnedest to ignore the way tears fall from Tim’s eyes.

He stays next to Tim through the rest of the fear toxin’s run through his body, pretending not to hear ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa J’ because he _knows_ that’s not what Tim called his parents, and when he hears ‘Tim’ pass through the kid’s lips in such a content sounding way, Jason tells himself that it’s nothing. After that, it seems that Tim fell into a regular sleep, but there’s no way in hell Jason’s going to go to sleep.

He watches Tim through the rest of the night and into the morning, not even stopping for a bathroom break, and when he hears Colin get off the couch, he finally gets up. The kid’s already digging through the fridge for something to make, and Jason can’t help but laugh at the thought that the last time he lived with a red head, they hadn’t cooked for him.

Colin looks up, smiling way too damn wide for an early morning, as he shuts the fridge. “Hey Jason, you want pancakes?”

“Sure kid, and make a little extra; I got a guest,” Jason says, starting up a pot of coffee. He vaguely remembers hearing about Tim going days without sleep or food and just with some coffee. It’s a wonder he’s not dead yet, but after last night, Jason doesn’t want to think about that.

“A hot date?” Colin asks, giving an exaggerated and not exactly well executed wink. It does little to ease Jason’s nerves.

“Something like that, and he had a rough night, so just, be chill, okay?” he asks. Colin gives a nod just as the coffee pot beeps. Jason doesn’t bother adding anything to the coffee; if Tim uses it as a replacement for sleep, he can’t afford to dull it down.

When Jason walks into the room, it’s obvious the kid hasn’t even so much as turned in his sleep. _I guess when he ain’t hopped up on fear gas, he sleeps like a rock_. “Tim,” Jason whispers, even though he’s trying to wake him up. “Tim!” he tries again, louder. Jason’s not quite sure if he should touch Tim just yet. He increases his volume again, and this time Tim turns, the hair falling away from his face and _jesus fucking Christ._ Okay, Jason’s a vigilante and he’s been blown up, so he knows cuts and scars, but there’s something so down right terrifying about the scratch marks around Tim’s mouth. “Tim.” It’s the last time Jason says it, but Tim’s already jerking up right in Jason’s bed.

“Jason! Why are you here?” Tim looks down. “Why am _I_ here? Why am I… wearing your clothes?” Tim goes red in the face at that observation, but Jason doesn’t have the time to place the reaction.

“Last night on patrol, you got fear gassed.”

 

Of course. Of _fucking_ course Tim would get himself into such a stupid situation. _But it all worked out didn’t it? I’m in Jason’s bed and in his clothes._ Tim _really_ hopes his face didn’t go red, but that wasn’t his biggest problem.

“How long was it ‘til you found me?” He honestly doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be.

“Probably only four minutes after you got hit. You just got…benched Tim; you shouldn’t have been doing patrol. Especially not on your own,” Jason scolds, and the hypocrisy makes Tim want to laugh, but the wording pissed him off.

“Just say it Jason. Fired. I got fired, and I got replaced.” Maybe, subconsciously, Tim is trying to goad Jason into arguing, but he doesn’t seem to be taking the bait.

“Okay kid, from one replaced Robin to another, tell me what happened,” Jason says, as if that’s all it’d take for Tim to confess everything. Except he’s handing Tim a cup of coffee and looking concerned and trying on a smile just to see if it still fits right.

 

It’s a lot for Jason to understand, but only because it’s so different from what happened to him and Barbara. Sure, it was meant to hurt Bruce, but the Joker went with the short game for them. A shot to the spine. A bomb set to detonate. But this time he went with the long game, the psychological game more so than a physical one. It’s… different for the madman to put so much thought into just a Robin.

There’s also the fact that Tim shot the asshole. Of course the clown isn’t dead, someone would’ve told him if he was, but Jason isn’t going to be the dickhead that tells Tim. Poor kid’s got enough to deal with.

_Knock. Knock._

“Jason, all the pancakes are done. I made a bunch!” Colin sounds proud of himself, but Jason doesn’t have time to find amusement in that.

“Okay, we’ll be right out,” he says, and then, quietly, for Tim, “okay kid, you gotta get up and eat. You’re skin and bones.”

 

Tim. Tim is the guest that Jason brought in during the night from wherever it is that he goes. Colin has yet to ask Jason where he sneaks off too, but when you grow up in Gotham, you learn not to ask questions.

There’s scratches around Tim’s mouth, and the ones at the corners sorta makes him look like the Joker. Colin also knows to keep his mouth shut about certain things. Jason stays close to Tim until the smaller boy is in his chair, and then he proceeds to fix the two of them a plate. Three large pancakes for Jason and two for Tim.

Jason may not have caught onto Tim’s slip of the tongue the other day, but Colin is almost one hundred percent sure that that’s because Jason can’t even realize his own feelings.


	9. Chapter 9

The kid’s staring at him, Jason can feel it, but he doesn't care because he's about two seconds from shoving this fucking pancake bite into Tim’s mouth.

 

“’M not hungry,” Tim slurs, so apparently he's not the type to wake up all at once. Who would've thought, what with sleep being his natural enemy and all?

 

“Eat the fucking pancake before I shove it down your throat replacement,” Jason nearly growls, and it doesn't even take a millisecond for him to realize that he's fucked up. Not only is the kid here, but Tim’s shut down. Again. _Shit.  “_ Fuck. Sorry. Just… eat something Tim. I'll make you whatever you want.” Jason sounds desperate. They all know it, but no one says anything. Just like how no one says anything about the way Tim's eyes get a little more focused at the sound of his name. Of course. The conversation wasn't that long ago; Jason should've been careful about the name thing. It's just that… with him and Roy, nothing was off limits because talking, getting the anger and depression and guilt out, worked for them, but it doesn't seem to work for Tim.

 

“Yeah Tim, look! It's really good, see? Ahhh,” Colin says, making a show of opening his mouth, eating the pancake bite, and rubbing his stomach. Tim looks at him for barely a second and a small smile slowly spreads across his face. Fuck this kid for doing what Jason can't. Colin keeps on staring at Tim, and Tim sort of makes eye contact. This uncomfortable looking exchange goes on until Colin's eyes flick down to the pancake and back up, and Tim takes the fork out of Jason's hand. When the cold tips of his fingers brush Jason's warm ones, he’s concerned that Tim doesn't have proper circulation. Fuck Tim for making him worry.

 

Tim slowly, very, very slowly, brings up the fork up to his mouth, the smallest bite Jason has ever seen perched on the very tips of the prongs. He's scared that if the bite falls off, Tim will just give up eating altogether.

 

 

* * *

 

Colin laughs, a soft laugh that reminds Tim of a cross between an elf and Bart. Jason tenses up beside him – _oh my god he's so close. Too close.-_ and Tim can't decide between being flattered by his worry or offended, but he has nothing to worry about because Tim won't break this time.

He stares at Colin's face. His hazel eyes surrounded by white and not yellow. His thin lips that don't stretch wide and are pink, not red. His hair that isn't ‘chemical green’ but a nice ginger that reminds Tim of Wally West and the jokes he'd tell. And finally, his freckles. Freckles that are nothing like Jason's because they're orange, not just a shade darker than the rest of his skin, and they spread all over his face and body but Jason's only spread across his cheeks and the crooked bridge of his nose.

 

Colin's done laughing, mouth falling back to its resting position of slightly turned up corners, and he's just looking at Tim, like he knows what Tim’s doing, but he can't. The only other person that understands the laughter is Jason, but Jason doesn't have this problem like he does.

“Are you ready for another bite, Tim?” Jason asks hesitantly, like he thinks Tim will snap. Fuck Jason for thinking that, but also _fuck Jason._ The dumb internet joke makes Tim laugh, and it startles him and Jason. Those green eyes go wide, and when Tim puts his hand over his mouth, shocked by his own reaction, he's just imagining that Jason looks a little disappointed.

“I just…remembered a joke I heard,” Tim lies; it’s a lot better than the alternative. He doesn’t need that type of mortification in his life.

 

 

* * *

 

These two are absolute idiots. Honestly, in all of his time meeting strangers -and the numbers are a lot higher than one would expect- Colin’s never met two people more stupid, more oblivious than these two.

 

After that…whatever that breakfast could be called, Colin set out to school. Jason’s apartment was a little bit farther out of the way than the orphanage, but Gotham Middle School was still only a bus away. A very, very crowded bus. Like everyone else, Colin’s days at school are quite monotonous. Well, they _were_. It just appeared that everyone wanted to weird Colin out today.

 

Case and point: a sleek, black car parked outside of GMS like it _belonged_ there. The kids walking off the bus after him practically stopped on the steps in shock, craning their necks to get a good look. There’s an awkward pause, longer than it takes to get your backpack and get out, where no one gets out of the car, and then the door is thrown open, almost literally, and out walks a boy.

 

He’s Colin’s height if not a little shorter, just like all of the other boys, and the first thing that Colin notices is his face. He has features that Colin has never seen, and tan skin that he has but this kid wears it so differently. He wears it with green eyes that look pissed and a mouth that seems to be in a perpetual scowl.

 

And all Colin can think is _this must be how Tim feels_.

 

* * *

 

 

Tim’s grateful that Jason isn’t walking on egg shells around him anymore, but he’s just _so confused_. Tim would’ve given anything just three months ago for Jason to look at him like he cared, like he was worth something, but then Tim fucked up. Tim fucked up and everything changed, but only for him. Tim’s screw up didn’t affect anyone else. No one else heard the laughter like Tim did, something constant in the back of his mind.

 

And now, Tim just wants Jason to look at him like he _understands_. Tim wants to be looked at like this wasn’t his fault. Like it didn’t just happen because he screwed up.

 

“Alright Tim, you have two options right now, well three if you wanna do it the hard way. One: You stay here with me and Colin. Two: I ship you back to Alfred. Or, if you wanna be complicated, three: you try to run and then I force you into option one. So, what’ll it be?”

 

Going back to the Manor isn’t an option, and honestly, Tim’s exhausted; he doesn’t feel like running, so, “one.” God, ten-year-old Tim would’ve been so happy.


	10. Chapter 10

He feels great. Tim feels utterly, _entirely_ perfect. He’s sitting on the couch, knees to his chin and practically on the armrest, and Jason is on the cushion next to him legs spread, feet firmly planted on the ground, one arm on his arm rest and the other holding his phone, thumb scrolling.

“You got a staring problem Tim?” Jason asks without looking up. _Well shit._

Sometimes he forgets that Jason was trained by the League of Assassins, and every time Tim does, he regrets it. “I don’t have a staring problem; I was just wondering what you were doing that was so interesting.”

“On my phone? I’m looking at an add that Harper made. It looks like shit, but smartphones are without a doubt the best thing made while I was ‘out of commission’.” Tim snorts when he laughs, and he’s entirely mortified until Jason looks at him out of the corner of his eye and gives a sly smile. Death jokes, huh? That’s pretty morbid Tim.”

Tim has decided that the way Jason says his name is his favorite. He can’t really explain it, but he just like the feeling he gets inside, the way his insides curl, and the way he wants to smile. “Yeah, Roy showed me his marketing ideas for some of his inventions, and they’re…kind of out there.”

Jason blows air out through his nose, and that seems to be the end of that conversation because he says, “you can watch whatever you want. I get all the basic channels.”

* * *

 

Of _fucking_ course. As soon as Tim turns on the TV, it’s on one of the kid channels. Probably Colin. And before the picture even entirely shows up, there’s this loud ass cackling. Jason reaches quickly for the remote, but Tim snatches his hand away from where it rested near the center of couch.

“What’re you doing?” Tim asks, no hint of fear or panic his voice, just the slightest hint of annoyance. “ _The Wizard of Oz_ is one of my favorites.”

“I was just going to…turn it down.” Now, Jason isn’t one for lying. In fact, one could call him brutally honest to the point of just plain being mean, but he doesn’t want to admit to Tim that he’s worried because then Tim might go back in his shell. Above all else, he doesn’t want that.

“Can I please get a snack?” Tim asks, and he’s a bit startled at the forced politeness. They might not have the best history, and Jason recognizes that he may have made mistakes, but if Tim’s gonna be living here with him and the kid, he’ll have to get over that shit.

“Yeah,” Jason says, trying not to let his voice betray the way his stomach reacted to the thought that _Tim was going to be living with him_.

When the munchkins start singing the song about the road, Tim is trying to open the cabinets as quietly as he can, but other than that, Jason can hear him singing. Timothy Jackson Drake sings along to musicals in a quiet voice, and a quick look backs confirms that he moves his hips as he does it. Jason’s life feels complete now, and it also feels like he’ll have two tooth shaped holes in his lips from biting them in an effort not to smile.

From now on, Jason and Tim are gonna be living together, and the sound of that frightens him almost as much as it excites him.

 

* * *

 

“I would like to sit there,” an entitled voice says to Colin, and a glance up confirms that it’s the new kid.

“That’s nice,” he says as he continues to look over his homework, making sure that everything is right.

“The woman at the door informed me that there are no pre-assigned seats, so I have chosen to sit here as it is in prime position to see the room and everyone else in it,” the kid explains as if Colin had asked, and any thoughts Colin might’ve had about the attractiveness of the kid have dissipated.

“That’s really interesting because I chose this seat for the exact same reason.” The other kid at the three-person table, Charlie, gives a short laugh. It makes Colin smile, but the new kid doesn’t seem to be as amused.

“I will remove you from your seat if you continue to patronize me,” the kid growls. At this point in the day, the final period, Colin is already anxious to get home and when you add to it the fact that he’s worried about Tim, his fuse has been cut down a bit.

“Try. Me.”

 

* * *

 

“Colin? Why’re you home so early?” Jason asks when the kids walks through the door. Now he’s not focused on how engrossed Tim is in the movie because Colin is walking with his head down and a slight limp. “What happened?”

“I got in a fight,” he huffs.

“A fight?” Jason and Tim ask in unison, equally surprised. “Why?” Tim continues.

“Because Bruce Wayne’s demon son wanted my seat.”

Colin hasn’t looked up yet, and Jason can entirely get why. His face must be looking pretty messed up considering the bastard child of Batman and the daughter of the Demon’s Head tried to forcibly remove him from his seat. Even more surprising than the demon brat being put in a public school and Colin not having been killed, is the fact that Tim looks more pissed than sad.

“Bruce needs to get a handle on his brat,” he spits, and that’s what gets Colin to look up. He doesn’t have a black eye, just some finger prints around his chin, so Jason figures that the brat pulled him to the ground, dug his knee into Colin’s thigh, and threatened him with a vice grip on his face.

“Are you okay Tim?” Colin asks, and Tim’s eyes soften just a bit when he says that he’s feeling great.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll make dinner,” Tim announces after sometime, and he doesn’t know why he does but he just feels in the mood. “Is spaghetti okay?” he calls out to Jason and Colin, standing on his tip toes and rooting through the cabinets. They both call back yes in unison, and Tim is struck by the domesticity of it.

Once again, he thinks back to cooking with his mom and singing in the kitchen, so he sings to himself quietly, refusing to be embarrassed by the way his hips move. He has a grand time doing so until he gets the sauce pan and pours Ragu into it.

He stops singing and stops swinging his hips and when Jason calls out his name it feels too loud and he accidentally burns his hand and he doesn’t realize anything’s wrong until he has his back against the oven and Jason is front of him and Colin is standing in the doorway.

“Hey Tim, whatever just happened, it’s cool, but Colin says he wants to watch TV with you, so let me finish dinner,” Jason says in a soft, calming voice that Tim doesn’t normally associate with him. He wants to call Jason out for lying, but he can’t remember the last time someone lied to make him feel better.

He lets Jason help him up and relishes in the comforting feeling of that broad, warm hand on his back. “So what do you want to watch Colin?” Tim asks, and he tries not to flinch when Colin answers hesitantly in what is probably a normal tone but feels too loud for Tim.

When Jason calls that dinner is ready, Tim can only bring himself to eat a little, and he gets mad, pissed, _furious_ at the fact that he took only a half-step forward but two steps back.

 

* * *

 

Tim doesn’t really eat that much at dinner, and his eyebrows still furrow if Colin talks a bit too loud, but he laughed today and made eye contact with him and sang and shook his hips. So all in all, Jason has to say that he is _so_ proud of Tim, and that makes him so happy that he can’t stop smiling even when Tim and Colin give him a weird look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys want me to keep putting in parts with Colin and Damian?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I was thinking about doing commissions. If I did, would anyone be interested?

 After dinner, there’s not much time before Colin decides it’s time for him to sleep, and thus Jason and Tim follow suit. Colin insists on sleeping on the floor, and no matter how much Tim argues, the boy refuses to give in. In the end, Colin is on the floor with a blanket over top of him and his bundled up shirt under his head while Tim is on the couch with the pillow.

 Without his phone or pretty much anything that he owns, there’s nothing for Tim to do other than stare at the ceiling and wonder. With the only fuel at the moment being his surroundings, Tim wonders about Jason’s life now that he’s done targeting all of the bats. Does Roy come visit often? How about Dick or anyone else from the teen titans? Is he comfortable right now, that is, does he sleep on a big bed with soft covers and fluffy pillows? Does he have pajamas, like Bruce, or does he sleep in sweatpants like Dick, or does he –

And that’s where Tim stops wondering; this, on Jason’s couch with him right down the hall and a ten year old on the floor, is not the place for Tim to be wondering these things about Jason. And it’s never going to be the right time.

 Once Colin is finally asleep and done moving around, Tim remembers that pure silence has never done anything good for him. No matter what Tim does, he does it with noise. He studies with instrumentals, he does chores and trains with lyrics, he sleeps with podcasts, and he patrols with the city.

 In Jason’s living room at night, there’s no noise, and thoughts are going through Tim’s head at a mile a minute. He can’t think of anything because he’s thinking of everything, and, as always, it’s incredibly overwhelming. There’s nothing he can do since a quick prod with his foot shows that Colin is right at the base of the couch, and at least one person in the living room deserves uninterrupted sleep.

To pass the time before Colin gets up for school, or God forbid Jason, Tim recites every alphabet he knows, forward and back, and if he doesn’t have a tune to sing it with, he makes one up himself. That doesn’t occupy him for more than thirty minutes, so Tim moves on to counting down from one hundred by the squares. In the end, that doesn’t even bring him to two hours later, but he has already tired himself out and now has no defenses.

 Tim has no defenses from his subconscious moving to full consciousness and continuing it’s a chant of _your fault, did nothing, useless_. This goes on for a minute or two, the chanting and Tim trying desperately to think of something else, until he can hear a faint, very faint, thump from the end of the hall.

 Tim’s senses are on high alert, torn between fearing for Jason and just flat out fearing him. He waits two beats before getting up, and then the bedroom door is opening. Tim sits up slowly, quietly, until he can see just over the couch. Jason stands there, stretching, his domino mask covering the upper part of his face.

 While he still has his back arched, hands over and slightly behind his head, Jason spots the top of Tim’s head. He lets his hands fall, walking toward Tim. Jason braces his hands on the top of the couch and leans in to whisper to him. “I’m going out on patrol; I’ll be back before the kid wakes up.” And his mouth is so close, and his breath is so warm, and Tim hopes to god that his shivers aren’t visible.

  Jason pulls back quickly enough, jerkily enough, that Tim thinks he’s done something wrong, and it wouldn’t be the first time. “Good luck,” Tim says because it’s too late to feign sleep.

   “Don’t need it.”

 

* * *

 

  This type of plot twist, well, Jason can’t say he _didn’t_ expect it, but he really would have had so many other things happen than this. At first he thinks it’s just phantom laughter; it wouldn’t be the first time. Except this is real because there’s other sounds in between, the sounds of a scheme going on.

   Now, Jason isn’t much of a runner, he’s actually a ‘fight til the end’ kind of guy as his record will show, but the not so shocking return of the Joker lights a fire in him, somewhere around his ribs and the couch in his safehouse.

   He runs home.

 

   Jason is scared as fuck, doesn’t know how to react other than to rush home to his house full of wayward children. He doesn’t _want_ to react in any other way. He forgets himself when the safehouse is in sight, crashes and bangs in, probably wakes up Tim and Colin.

    Tim, ever the trained soldier, bolts up, and Colin, with the training of a kid going through Gotham City’s foster care, pretends to not wake up. Jason doesn’t miss the small jerk.

   “Jason, what’s wrong?” Tim is panicked, and Jason knows he’s going through every possible villain, every possible death, every possible thing that can go wrong.

    “Nothing,” he grunts, still a little breathless, and Colin decides it’s safe, sits up in his bed.

  “It’s not nothing,” Tim says, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. If Jason were Superman or even Superboy, he’d definitely hear the way Tim’s heartrate sky rockets. “What’s wrong? Who’s hurt? Is it Dick? Alfred? Bruce? Ko-“ he cuts himself off, takes a pause so short that Jason can’t interject, and continues? “You?” Apparently Jason pause enough that Tim is suspicious? “Oh God what’s wrong? Did you get stabbed? Shot?” He’s hyperventilating now, but Jason doesn’t know how to stop it.

“Tim I’m fine, nothing’s wrong, see?” It’s when Jason moves to gesture at his whole body that he realizes he still has his hood on.

A horrible smell, slowly fills the air, and Jason can’t place it, that is, until Colin comes clean.

  “I uh, wet the bed. Floor. I wet the floor.”


	12. Chapter 12

Like any hero next to someone in need, Tim is quick to forget everything and reassure Colin.

“Ah damn, it’s okay Colin. How about you go take a shower, leave your clothes outside the door, and I’ll wash them for you?” Tim suggests, eager to latch onto anything other than what’s happening.

“It’s fine, really! I can bring wash my clothes and then get in the shower after. I’m real sorry Jason,” Colin says, turning to the owner of the apartment, and that’s Jason’s confirmation that the little fucker is up to something.

The first time Jason ever tracked mud into Wayne Manor, after school and completely by accident, he lied his ass off. Alfred had asked, in that ever condescending accent, if Jason was the one who tracked mud into the house. Naturally, Jason said it must have been Bruce. Alfred saw through it in a second, whether because Jason looked terrified or because Bruce hadn’t been home yet, the world may never know. Jason was scared that this one mistake, this one little oversight on his part, would be enough to get him kicked out. It took Alfred talking about every little mistake Dick made to finally reassure him.

“Don’t be ridiculous Colin, just get in the shower!” Tim is in some sort of mother-hen mode, and Jason has no idea how only-child-Tim-Drake got that way.

“Well, if you insist” Colin says and doesn’t stay a second longer.

Once Tim has gathered Colin’s discarded clothes from outside the bathroom door and made his way back to the blanket, Jason makes his move.

“You can’t keep doing this you know,” he’s not trying to be harsh, but Tim flinches anyway.

“What? Doing the laundry? Your place will stink otherwise Jason.”

It’s weird to hear Tim say his name, but this isn’t the time to think about the way his stomach flips. Right now it’s time think about the fact that if none of the Bats want to help, Jason will have to. He knows, better than almost anyone, that it doesn’t help to live like this. Living like this, avoiding what happened, is a surefire way to start a road trip to hell. Babs was the one to help him realize that, and it’s time that Jason pays the favor forward.

“Cut the shit. You just had a panic attack because you heard the Joker’s back.” Tim flinches again, harder this time, and Jason only feels a little guilty. Hearing the name helps. It worked for him at least. Hearing Tim’s name from the mouths of so many people he cared about just pissed him off in the beginning, but he got all the anger out at the name that by the time they met face to face he wasn’t as furious as he would’ve been. “The fucker always come back, but if you want, I’ll help you finish him off for good.”

The silence that follows is only punctured by the sound of the running shower, but Tim’s hesitance is enough to both frighten and excite Jason. He’s excited, giddy even, that one of the Bats is thinking about joining his side, his crusade, but he’s frightened because if Tim, Batman fanboy Tim, is hesitating, questioning his morals, then he’s close to his breaking point.

Jason broke, so long ago, under the tutelage of the Al Ghul’s, and that lead to the end of so many relationships. He could handle it, could handle losing the support of Gotham’s finest, because he was used to being alone and starting all over again. Tim can’t handle that. He couldn’t handle the deaths of his friends and the pseudo rejection of his partner. Tim won’t be able to bounce back from half of the Justice League, almost all of his allies, hating him and everything he’s done.

“No. I won’t do it.” Jason thought he’d be relieved at this answer, but now he’s pissed.

“What? Can’t stoop down to _our_ level?” Low blows seem to be all he’s dealing lately.

“What the hell? No! I can’t do what you did. I can’t set myself apart from everyone and be alone!”

It’s flattering, Tim’s implication that he’s strong, but it’s so wrong. Jason is strong in the sense that he can shatter someone’s skull with his bare hands, but he’s weak, so _fucking_ weak. He’s weak in the way that he needs a source of light when he sleeps, he needs his door open, he needs sounds to keep him from falling into his own head.

“How about this Tim? I’ll make you a brand new, never offered before deal. I reserve the right to kill this fucker if I ever so please, but we’ll be in this together.” The way Tim looks indignant clues Jason to the fact that Tim doesn’t understand. “If I kill the Joker, the blood isn’t on your hands, rest assured. I mean we’re in this game together. This whole ‘getting better’ game, that is, so what do you say do you wanna be together?” The wording is off, but Jason doesn’t realize until he’s done speaking. It doesn’t matter anyhow; this way sounds right.

“Let’s be… together.”


	13. Chapter 13

Getting together, getting _better_ together, is, as it turns out, horrible.

It starts with Jason placing a ban on caffeine. Anything that could possibly make Tim “jittery as fuck” is thrown away. Jason doesn’t indulge in soda or coffee to begin with, and the two beers he has in his fridge are quickly disposed of.

“Jason, I don’t even drink,” Tim says, and it’s the truth. Neither drugs nor alcohol have ever been Tim’s vice; he has always relied on work to get over things. When Kon died, Tim threw himself back into school. He took self-study, got extra-credit, and even got a full-ride for his grades from the effort. When Bart died, Tim took down a large child sex-trafficking ring that was based in Gotham.  When Dick chose a pint-sized demon to be Robin over him, Tim threw himself into flying.

“Desperate people do desperate things Tim,” Jason says as he pours the contents of the cans down the drain. That’s another issue Tim has with this whole ‘together’ thing; every time Jason says his name, Tim’s stomach does something odd that it hasn’t done since he was young.

Right now, with Colin gone and him and Jason alone together, Tim feels like he’s a kid again. He feels like he’s alone in an alley and watching a brightly-colored kid do handstands on top of a building, and for a brief second, Tim wonders if Jason can still do them. _He probably can; he can do everything. He looks good doing it too._

“Tim! Seriously dude, you can’t keep zoning out like that; you have to be experiencing everything that’s happening.” Jason sounds like one of those life coaches that you see on a basic cable channel while you’re home sick with the flu, but Tim appreciates the effort.

Last night Jason had promised to not get _needlessly_ angry at him. “Because if you try to do some stupid shit again Rep-… Tim, I’m gonna kick your ass again.” For most people, the threat probably wouldn’t help, but for Tim, it helps soften the harsh change. If Jason were to start being nice to him with no asshole remarks, Tim wouldn’t know where to stand. As it is, Tim knows that he’s being a burden; he’s being a burden just like he was to Bruce, and Alfred, and Dick, and Kon, and Bart, and-

“What did I just say? What’re you thinking about Tim?” Jason asks, jarring Tim out of his thoughts enough to slightly disorient him.

“About how I’m a burden to everyone.” As soon as he says it, Tim knows that he shouldn’t have; Jason’s eyes go dark and his mouth turns down at the corners.

“You’re not. Really. Without you, I wouldn’t be like this.” This statement walks a very fine line between being helpful and harmful, and Tim tries to focus on the good things that this comment implies. Jason is stronger and more skilled now; he has plenty of safe-houses; he’s cleaning up Gotham just like he has always wanted; he’s even watching after a small child.

“Right, I guess you owe all your success to me,” Tim says, giving a wry smile.

“Actually Tim, you owe your success to me; if I hadn’t had died, you wouldn’t have become Robin,” Jason shoots back, giving Tim a dry smile of his own. That’s another thing that Tim has noticed about Jason; he either gets sensitive about the topic of his death or he makes a joke about it. Tim figures it’s all a part of Jason’s own, personal process. Maybe he learned it from Roy Harper; Tim has heard stories about Arsenal’s colorful, sordid past.

Tim tries to ignore the gross, unneeded, and inappropriate feeling of jealousy that that thought brings on

 

* * *

 

 

In the wake of this whole getting together, _no, we’re getting_ better _together_ , thing, Jason has been putting in more of an effort to pay attention to Tim. Prior to this, Jason stalked Tim, and he doesn’t mind admitting to it. However, he stalked Tim like a predator stalks its prey, but now he watches and takes in details that don’t mean anything.

He takes in the fact that Tim can’t make eye-contact with him, gets twitchy if he gets too close, and other small shit like that. _It’s cute_ , he think absently, but then he focuses the fact that that’s not what this is. This is getting better together because Tim’s version of getting better is hurting himself and Jason’s is hurting others. Together they’d be beneficial to each other, but Jason throws that symbiotic relationship out the window in favor of them both fumbling through the dark.

Ever since the pit, Jason’s mood have been swinging dangerously; he goes from one extreme to the other at the drop of hat. Maybe, he figures, if he has Tim to keep in mind, he won’t be so quick to anger. He’s been using Tim as his excuse for years, and he still thinks he’s partly justified but can also recognize that _maybe_ Tim didn’t just throw away Jason’s memory. Actually, a part of Jason hopes he held it close.

He tries not to dwell on that thought as he crushes the beer cans and throws them into the trash.


End file.
